PUBLIC City of Dreams // OPEN

[Ryan Graves]

CITY OF DREAMS
//OPEN//​

Watson District, Night City
South Watson, Outside Megabuilding H10




The neon-lit chaos of Night City pulsed around Mega Building H10, a towering slab of urban entropy. The holographic arrows of the intersection speakers flashed insistently, their robotic voice cutting through the city's symphony. "Walk. Walk. Walk." A small crowd shuffled across the street, their faces bathed in the synthetic glow of advertisements overhead.

Puff. Exhale.

Ryan sat astride his motorcycle, leaned slightly back, his weight on his hands propped against the handlebars. The bike's engine idled low, a steady purr beneath the din of the city. His red jacket caught the pale blue light of a nearby ramen stand, the scents of cheap broth and soy-meat wafting through the air. In his right hand, a cigarette burned lazily, thin tendrils of smoke curling upward and dissipating into the cool night. In his left, he held a small holo-photo—a faded image that flickered occasionally, but still clear enough to see two kids grinning at the camera. Ryan and his sister, Nessa, back when the world wasn't quite so sharp-edged. She was wearing his oversized jacket, her face smudged with dirt but beaming with pride, and Ryan had his arm slung over her shoulder, already wearing the beginnings of his trademark cocky smirk.

Ryan exhaled slowly, the smoke mingling with the haze of the city. His Kiroshi optics flicked up briefly, scanning the crowd as he stuffed the holo-photo back into his pocket. The passersby moved with purpose, whether it was heading to a late-night gig, grabbing a bite, or just getting somewhere they thought might be safer than where they'd been. A couple argued near a parked Delamain cab, their voices muffled by the hum of the city. A lone busker played a haunting synth tune on an ancient keyboard, its keys lighting up with every press. He took another drag of his cigarette, tapping the ash onto the cracked pavement. Memories swirled, unbidden but persistent. He hadn't seen her in years—not since they'd gone their separate ways. Life in Night City had a way of pushing people apart, even the ones who mattered most.

A muffled commotion across the street caught his attention—two gangers decked out in chrome were having a heated argument near the entrance to Megabuilding H10. A few residents scurried past, avoiding eye contact. Ryan didn't move, didn't even flinch. He'd seen it all before.

Leaning back further, the Solo rolled his neck, letting the tension release in small cracks. The city felt alive tonight, like it was holding its breath for something to happen. But Ryan? He had nowhere to be, no client breathing down his neck, no gang waiting on him to make their next move. For now, he was just here, smoking, waiting, watching the world spin by. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes carried a readiness that said he wasn't caught off guard easily. It was the kind of opening Night City offered to anyone looking for a connection, a favor, or even just a place to sit and talk.

The speakers chirped again. "Walk. Walk. Walk." The crowd shifted. The city breathed. And the Edgerunner waited.

---

OOC: Jump in with your character however you'd like—approach Ryan, start some chaos nearby, or just strike up a conversation. The city's alive, and anything can happen.

 

[The Watchman]

Another night, another gig among the arteries of Night City. It was a sense of regularity that few could afford in a patchwork of corporate meddling and rampant consumerist behaviour. The purr of the Kusanagi's engines was a comforting sensation to Sammy Shen, who rode his street racer around the bend with the fierce roar of a predator on the prowl. The Lotus Guard had done their rounds, the streets were quiet—for now. He was done playing shepherd for the night, and his stomach gnawed at him like a rat trapped in a steel cage.

Pulling up to a ramen vendor nestled between two flickering holo-ads, Sammy killed the engine and let the silence catch up. Steam from the cart curled into the sodium glow, mingling with the scent of old oil and broth thick enough to drown in. His comm-link buzzed in his ear.

"Wai, Evie," he said, tapping his earpiece. "What you doing? I'm at the noodle guy. You eaten yet?"

"Weih . . ." Evelyn's voice crackled through, clipped and tired. ". .it's past midnight, Sammy. You haven't eaten yet? Siao ah?"

"Nah lah, diu where got time man. Night shift is crazy, y'know?" He glanced at the vendor, and pointing out on the menu for his order. "Daai wun jyu gwat tong laa min, gaa do di zyu juk tung maai soeng daan. No spring onion."

"'Kay kay, sorry lah - busy as shit doing deliveries. How you doin' baby?"

"Okay lah, but you're always so busy," Evelyn sighed. "Mm ho yi jau sik me? Miss you like crazy weih."

Sammy winced, her words cutting deeper than he expected. "I know, lah. But I'm grinding hard now so we can chill later. Like, really chill. Mou je zou, mou me aat lik. Zi jau ngo dei, hou mm hou?"

There was a long pause on the line, punctuated only by the hiss of boiling water and the clatter of chopsticks in the background. Finally, Evelyn's voice softened. "Okay. . . .love you baby. Siu sam di, dak mm dak?"

Sammy grinned, a touch of bitterness in his smile as he sent a quick wave to the vendor, signaling that his order was coming up. "Siu sam di," he echoed, the words feeling strange on his tongue after hearing them from Evelyn. Maybe it was just the weight of the night, but something about her voice had a tenderness to it that didn't quite match the usual clamor of the city. It stuck with him, gnawing at his insides in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

His comm-link buzzed again, but it wasn't Evelyn this time. He flicked it open, only to see a name he wasn't particularly excited to hear from: DeeJay, the fixer who had hooked him up with the latest job. "Oi," Sammy muttered under his breath, putting the phone to his ear. "What's up?"

The voice on the other end was familiar, oily in that way only fixers can be. "Hey Shen-dawg. You finish up yet or what?" DeeJay's tone had that casual edge, like he couldn't care less about whether Sammy was dead or alive. "I heard you wrapped it up nice and clean. No blood, no mess, no fuss, huh? Now that's a surprise." There was a hint of mockery beneath the words.

"Yeah, yeah, no blood," Sammy shot back, throwing a glance over his shoulder as a pair of Tyger Claws lurked nearby, leaning against the glowing walls of a nearby alley. "Kept it clean. What, you want me to go back and get messy just for your amusement, you sick fuck? Gonna cost you double for dry cleaning."

DeeJay laughed, a short bark of noise. "Nah, nah. I'm just sayin', a little blood never hurt no one. But, hey, you delivered. And now we're square. How's Chinatown treating you? You still king of that little block?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sammy replied, his eyes scanning the alley around him as the ramen vendor started preparing his order. "Still running my corner. Ain't no gonk gonna take that from me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of eddies and passing them to the vendor. "But don't act like you and me are chooms, possie? This isn't charity. You know I'll get my eddies—just keep the gigs rolling, and don't get too cute with your 'special requests' next time, alright?"

"Sure thing, Shen-dwag" DeeJay replied, and there was a slight edge to his voice, but Sammy didn't care. He had heard all the threats before. "But you remember what I said, right my man? You make the big waves, you get paid the big bills. But you slip up just a teensy tiny, and you get nothing. Splash the wrong waves, you might get worse than nuffin, you dig, Shen boy?"

Sammy leaned back against his bike, his eyes flicking to the bustling streets around him. People were busy with their own small dramas, a mosaic of flesh and chrome moving through the darkness. He exhaled slowly, not letting the words hang in the air. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep the gigs coming, DeeJay. You know where to find me."

With a final chuckle from the fixer, the line went dead.

As Sammy hung up, the vendor handed him his steaming bowl of ramen, the rich, pungent aroma thickening the air around him. He raised the bowl to his nose, inhaling the savory scent as the steam curled up into the night. It was a small comfort in a city that offered so little of it. The hum of neon flickered above him like a distant heartbeat, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. The street was quieter now, only the occasional footstep breaking the stillness.

He took a deep slurp of noodles, not caring about the stray droplets that splattered his jacket. The broth was rich, salty, a balm for the grind. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced down at his comm-link. No new messages. Typical. DeeJay was a piece of work, but at least the gig was done.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint hiss of a nearby cigarette being lit. Sammy's eyes flicked up, catching the faintest glint of chrome. A solo. It wasn't the first time he had caught someone lurking around, watching from the shadows. He didn't mind it—sometimes, it was a good idea to let the odd mercenary know you were paying attention.

 

[Beau Frost]

Watson District, Night City - Megabuilding H10
@Ryan Graves

His footsteps were light...too light. Like a cat prowling the jungle for it's next victim within this sprawling concrete jungle. The neon lights of Night City reflected off of dark shades planted on the face of the male as he made his way through people not really caring who he ran in to what he ran in to.

Beau Frost was your typical Russian stereotype of a man. Stoic, cold and could rather care less if you died right in front of him if you weren't within his very close knit circle. But, that didn't mean he wouldn't lie to your face to get what he wanted. Those who he considered family he would die for. He would burn down Night City if they asked without hesitation. Loyalty ran deep in his veins and he would take anything less in life. If you weren't as loyal as him...

A bang and the sound of laughter filled the air breaking the male from his thoughts. Beau looked up to see where he was at. Watson District. That's right. He had business to attend here and to meet someone.

His cellphone rang. Letting the headphone in his ear pick up the call, he spoke.

"Говорить." (Speak)

"Beau! The new system is working perfectly and within this month alone, no attacks have gotten through! You don't know what this means to me and my business, man. I haven't lost a single eddie to any netrunner in a month and I'm finally making profit!" A male's voice nearly blew his eardrum out in excitement.

Arthur Meddling. A small financial business vendor who's business wasn't doing too hot from a crappy pre-bought fortress from a 3rd party vendor instead of a reputable one. Beau's face hinted at annoyance as the man kept rambling on and on about his great new system and how the Russian saved him and his family. In all honestly, it was quite the other way around. Beau's fortress, Heaven's System, was monitoring all activity and information processing in and out of Arthur's business. In simple terms, Beau was robbing him in a more subtle way. After five minutes of listening to the man, a familiar figure atop a bike caught his attention and he quickly hung up on Arthur in the middle of a sentence. This was who he was looking for.

Standing on the other side of the street, Beau looked at the crosswalk symbol. As traffic passed by, he pressed the button once to get it going. In a world of such digital influence, if he had time, could have probably redirected all traffic or stopped it with ease. Yet he was such an upstanding citizen of Night City, he wouldn't.

"Walk. Walk. Walk."

The autonomous voice repeated over and over again. Following the small crowd walking across the street, walking along the sidewalk towards his one and true friend within this city, Beau stopped next to him. His eyes glancing over at a man in a ramen shop who appeared to be watching Ryan. Yet behind dark shades, he kept his posture of greeting his choom.

"Looking for excitement?" his voice dripped with a Russian accent. It had gotten a tad lighter than when they first met each other two years ago and at a show. He smirked at Ryan and made a gesture. "It has been a while, eh?" He said while putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder and shaking it with a smile.

 

[Omega]

Watson
H10 Area

She was grinning like a freaking loon, and cackling like a damn banshee. Oh, she had plenty of reasons to be in such a good mood tonight. Sober, too, believe it or not. Not only did the Canons win their match earlier this evening, but more importantly, her latest mods to her hoverboard had increased her top end by 23%! And she'd also been able to fine tune the braking system connections, greatly increasing her maneuverability. TL;DR, she's super proud of herself.

And to celebrate, she thought it'd be a gonzo idea to see how the other half live for a change. Not content with her Heywood stomping grounds tonight, no sir! Naw, she was ripping through moving traffic, pedestrians and in n outta alleys. The visual input received began changing, tho in ways so subtle, you had to know what you were looking for in the first place. You start seeing a lil less trash and shit collected in the curbs. More cars actually in complete versions than there are parts laying strewn up and down the sidewalks and roads.

But for Omega, it wasn't the sights that signaled the change. It was the smells. The aromas she caught as she zoomed north towards Watson improved block by block. Not saying it was all roses and shit up north. But when you're sipping morning java and the morning breeze brings a hefty waft of decomp mixed with the sewage that's just...Well, there's reasons you don't drink the water at home, aight?

So yeah, for Omega, the smells always get her. And it's always the damn noodle vendors. They could be selling some kinda long, noodely looking worm in a bowl, long as it smells so mouth wateringly good. Almost as if the board knew, it slowed as they neared H10. There was a noodle dude she especially liked. He had this "Secret Sauce". She asked no questions, and he told no lies. Everybody wins.

Noodle dude spotted! A triumphant, and really fuckin hungry, grin on her face, she nudged her board cross the street. The speed freak that she was, quite literally, prohibited her from simply not noticing @Ryan Graves . Or more like his bike. She had her eye on one herself. Custom, she didn't trust anyone else to be capable of building to her precise demands. She let out a low whistle, with a nod. She cut her eyes from bike to rider

Nice ride.

She tried to walk away, and stop drooling, she really did. But dammit all anyways. She just had to give the bike one good look, nose to tail. She was pretty, damn pretty. Omega had no doubt the bitch could fly. In her stomach, a hunger rumbled. It was like that rumble kicked her fan girl moment off, and she blinked a couple times, clearing the cyberwebs.

She stepped off her board and was turning to the sidewalk and the noodle dude, as she'd noticed @Beau Frost seeming to head towards @Ryan Graves with purpose. It was only when Beau spoke did Omega's head turn back to see the man's face. She studied it a moment before winking and turning off towards her blessed noodle dude. Who had thank the gods, just given @The Watchman his order and there was no line.

Score!​

 

[The Watchman]

Sammy had been nursing his ramen like it was the last meal he'd ever see, chopsticks dipping lazily in the broth as the city noise hummed around him. The vendor's radio muttered out some retro ballad, a stark contrast to the sharp hiss of traffic slicing through the neon-soaked night.

Then he caught it—a low whistle cutting through the air, sharp enough to snag his attention. His eyes slid sideways just as a figure nudged a hoverboard across the street, sleek and humming with a custom edge that practically screamed "one of a kind."

His brows lifted slightly as she slowed near the stand. The board caught his eye first—streamlined, polished, some custom shit he'd never seen in the shops around here. The rider wasn't bad either. Grinning like a devil on holiday, like she'd just burned rubber on some poor bastard and left him eating fumes.

Sammy set his bowl down, rolling his neck. He'd been too lost in his own thoughts to notice her pulling up, but now she was hard to ignore.

"Wai, jou meh siu dou gam gwai hoi sam?" he called out, voice low but carrying enough weight to cut through the background noise. His chopsticks flicked toward her board. "Di baan tai lok hui zan hai jing dou baau?"

 

[Omega]

If you paid any attention at all, you might think it a lil strange how quick Omega made to create space between her and the unholy object of her chrome fixation. Honestly, if the bike had been solo, there's a 99.9% chance she'd have hopped on, just to feel what it's like to have that much speed and power under you. Dammit, there she went, stealing a glance over her shoulder. She muttered a string of curses at herself in several languages, just to make sure she covered all the bases.

She had started double timing about 1.5 seconds after she'd said 2 simple words, Nice ride. She'd spoken...Out loud...The hell was she thinkin! For all her confidence on the track or her board, or even in hunting for the BlackWall, she, too, had her kryptonite.

People.

She didn't understand them. The concept of social interaction was worse than suicide in her book. That was a fresh hell, like Groundhog Day. Soon as she spoke her cheeks exploded in color and her cybereyes went wide with fright. What if he spoke in return?! Nope, not gonna happen. Double time it, bitch.

Which she did, and gladly. This would be one of those times when her lack of an attention span isn't the worst thing. Cause her nose gets a good, strong whiff of Ye Holy Noodle Man's wares, and her stomach leads the way. Shiny zoomy bike forgotten. Sorta. Girls gotta eat.

@The Watchman voice does project well enough to get Omega's attention over the rumble of the Streets. She didn't understand a lick of what he said, and goddamit! Why was he talking at her anyways? She tried to look around herself, hoping and praying Sammy was really talking to one of the joy toys nearby. Or maybe he's giving the signal for his gang buddies to come and snatch her. Somehow, the thought of being kidnapped was less upsetting than being engaged in conversation.

Once she resigned herself to being the target of the chopstick waving, she took a slow, nerve steadying breath. One boot in front of the other, she lifted a hand in Sammy's direction, then pointed to the Noodle Dude.

Uhhh...I want noodles, dude

Perfect English, perfectly spoken by one of Russian fluency. She did have a thought to be a smart ass, and cock back in some kinda Russian-English mashup, akin to our beloved Spanglish. She was in an amazing mood tho, so the thought was in n out. Figuring the shortest distance between her stomach and the Noodles of Power was to not be a raging cunt. And her therapist said she was incapable of compromise!

As she drew nearer to Sammy and the noods, the actual condition of Omega's board would be revealed. All the lights that flicker, strobe and flash up and down the Streets do more than hawk the newest wares. They also obfuscate the truth, and sometimes the truth is...Ugly and held together with duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape.

Sure, she had a sweet paint job. Nose to tail, the board had a carbon fiber appearing paint job. Black as night with varying shades of silvers and greys running throughout in linear patches. Some are just cause they're pretty and racing stripes make you go faster, everybody knows that. Some are circuits, chip slots and links of only Omega knows what. Sammy did nail a couple details. She was a custom job, and the board was fast.

It was fast, when it was in perfect condition. Not like tonight, where there's a semi-repaired horizontal crack near the tail. She'd wiped out a few weeks back, on her way to the junkyard. Damn near snapped the board in half, but she'd gotten sooo lucky. A few fibers had remained connected. Enough for her to begin the sofuckingslow process of repair. If asked, Omega would say the board was about 50% tonight. Like a virgin at dinner before prom. You know what's gonna happen later, and it's gonna be awesome.

But the wait is killer, yo. And Omega is nothing, if not impatient. Ahhh to be young and dumb. She'd pushed the board probably harder than a sane person would've tonight. But the simple fact that it was under her arm and in one piece did not a damn thing but encourage and embolden her.

...Shit
​

 

[Ryan Graves]

The neon haze of Watson painted the night in sickly pinks and greens, the smell of burnt ozone mixing with the smoke from his cigarette. He took a slow drag, savoring the quiet moment, only for it to be shattered by a heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. He didn't flinch. "Beau," Ryan muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You always know how to ruin a man's smoke break."

Before the duo could converse further, another voice cut through the night. "Nice ride."

Ryan turned his head, his sharp eyes landing on a woman leaning casually a few steps away, her gaze locked on his bike. "Thanks," Ryan replied coolly, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. "She handles better than she looks." A third voice chimed in soon after—this one speaking rapidly in Cantonese. Ryan's head swiveled toward a figure approaching with a steaming bowl of ramen in one hand, chopsticks in the other. The man gestured vaguely at Ryan and his bike, saying something that sounded almost impressed.

Ryan took one last drag of his cigarette, then flicked it into the street. "Guess we're making friends tonight." Turning back to the stranger with the ramen, he offered a faint nod and a curt reply, "Sorry, choom. Don't speak Cantonese."

@Omega | @Beau Frost | @The Watchman​